


[Un-(Buttoned] Up)

by OnceUponAWhim



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Button fly, F/M, GAP, Smuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-13 19:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13577913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponAWhim/pseuds/OnceUponAWhim
Summary: Lucy does a little shopping. And then other things happen… [Lucy/Wyatt, timed to fit somewhere in season 2, though this has nothing to do with anything about the actual upcoming episodes. No spoilers for season 2.]





	1. Buttoned Up

**Author's Note:**

> Because I owe Lucy a little fun frivolity after torturing her in Timing :)

Lucy sighs and halfheartedly rifles through a stack of sweaters on the shelf in front of her. It's not that she doesn't appreciate Jiya's efforts to cheer her up and have a little 'girl time' after being stuck spending day after day and week after week and jump after jump with just the guys, she _does_. And she really likes Jiya the more she gets to know her.

But shopping was – _is_ , Lucy corrects herself harshly, _still is_ – Amy's thing. Amy's the one who always knows how to throw together just the right combination of jewelry and scarf and bag and shoes and this color and that fabric, the one who's been picking out outfits for Lucy and dressing her like her own personal Barbie doll for the past decade and a half.

So being out with Jiya just feels a little disingenuous.

At least, Lucy admits, they'd ended up at a Gap. Even when Amy was around, Lucy pretty much stuck to simple places like Gap and Banana Republic outlets when left to her own devices. Most of the stuff there was reasonably safe for a teaching wardrobe, and nothing was ever so outrageous or overly trendy that she risked making a true fashion faux pas and looking dumb in front of her students.

Lucy's just a little surprised that Jiya's the one who'd insisted they head there. Jiya definitely doesn't have the same style as Amy, but Lucy is still pretty envious of her ability to throw together eclectic outfits that really work for her, much like Amy had always done, and much like Lucy never feels she's much good at. But given that cool, punk-ish, eclectic spin on her outfits, Gap just doesn't quite seem like something Lucy would have figured would factor much into Jiya's repertoire.

But Jiya insists that she actually does like their jeans, even if most of the tops are a little boring for her.

Boring for Jiya is pretty much exactly Lucy's speed, so even though she doesn't really need anything, she pokes listlessly through a few more sweaters and some blazers while Jiya is in the fitting room trying things on.

Nothing's really jumping out at her, so she wanders a little deeper into the store to kill time while she's waiting.

When she spots the display, she doesn't actually see the jeans at first. It's just another sweater, but it's the only red one she's seen thus far in the store, and she realizes that she does actually need to replace the one she already has that had started to fray a little along one of the wrists. But then she looks up and happens to catch a glimpse of the mannequin on that particular display, and she can't help but smile to herself a little.

And then suddenly, she's startled out of her daze by Jiya snapping her fingers in front of her face.

"Earth to Lucy?" she prompts, looking concerned.

Lucy blinks, tearing her gaze from the mannequin to focus on Jiya. "Huh?" she asks absently.

Jiya just frowns at her, looking even more worried. "Ok, what was that? You were completely out of it right there." She wrinkles her nose and eyes the sweater still in Lucy' grasp. "You can't be that fascinated by a... _red cardigan_."

For half a second, Lucy's instinct is to defend the boring wardrobe staple, but then she's pulled back into the memory and just distractedly mumbles a reply, "Nothing."

The skeptical look she ends up being on the receiving end of tells her that Jiya is less than convinced about it being nothing.

"It's nothing," Lucy reiterates, a little stronger this time. "Just-" she starts, then says simply, "Button fly jeans at Gap." She punctuates the admission with a shrug and a wistful grin, still inwardly laughing at the fact that they actually exist.

Jiya regards her with confusion. "And you're anti-zipper?"

"Huh?" Lucy asks again, before she realizes that of course Jiya has no idea what she's referring to. "Oh, no," she clarifies. "Wyatt. He had button fly jeans from Gap."

The next thing she knows, Lucy is being forcibly dragged from the open space in front of the cardigan display and finds herself shoved into a corner, practically into the display of peacoats and denim jackets.

Not to mention Jiya's face mere inches from her own, glowing with excitement as she demands, "Oh my god, what happened?"

Lucy just eyes her incredulously and tries to extricate herself from between the clothing racks. "Holy crap," she grumbles, "You tell me. What the hell?"

"Why do you know about Wyatt's _fly_?" Jiya hisses, practically vibrating with glee. "Are you _sleeping_ together? Did you guys _finally_ hook up?"

"What?" And that's when it finally registers for Lucy exactly how what she'd said must have sounded. "No," she hurriedly corrects Jiya. " _No_ ," she adds emphatically. In the meantime, she's just hoping that the heat she feels creeping into her cheeks isn't a sign that she's turning the same color as the cardigan she's still holding.

Jiya looks far less than convinced. "So you just happen to have pretty specific details about the crotch of his pants?"

"So does Rufus," Lucy huffs, trying to deflect. "And the ghost of Eliot Ness. They didn't hook up with him either."

Confusion is written _all_ over Jiya's face after that comment.

Lucy sighs, trying to explain. "He just said it on a mission. In Chicago?" She shrugs and picks at the tag on the sweater. "I thought it was weird," she adds, continuing, "Who still has button fly jeans?" And nodding back toward the mannequin she'd seen, she points out, "Gap still does, apparently."

The explanation seems to help a little, but Jiya's still looking at her strangely.

"It's just funny, that's all," Lucy insists.

Jiya smirks and crosses her arms over her chest, eyeing Lucy knowingly. "Except for the fact that you _do_ want to have firsthand knowledge of undoing those buttons," she challenges.

Yes, Lucy's brain retorts. Yes, Lucy's flaming red cheeks chime in. "No," Lucy's voice lies.

"Yes," Jiya counters, grinning.

Lucy sighs in defeat. It's not like denying it is getting her anywhere anyway; all these jumps through history and all the alibis and alter-egos, and she's still terrible at lying. She does have feelings for him, and has for a while now. And at one point, just for a little while, there had even been a little flicker of hope that something might be there for him too. But… "It doesn't matter," she informs Jiya glumly. "He-" She shakes her head. "It's not happening."

Jiya just gives her that sad half-smile that she always does whenever the topic of conversation treads anywhere near Wyatt and feelings. But Lucy's grateful that she doesn't push any further, and she ducks out from where she's been cornered.

"You should get them," Jiya pipes up just as Lucy slips by her. "Some, like, cosmic signal to the universe that you guys have matching jeans so you should be together."

With a wan smile, Lucy regards Jiya over her shoulder. If only it were that easy. "Uh huh, right," she snorts softly. "They're the ones you made him change out of in 1954, so," she shrugs, "he doesn't have them anymore anyway."

They finish up with their purchases at Gap, then head off to a couple more stores. Lucy is just thankful that the topic of Wyatt and his jeans and any taking off of those jeans doesn't come up again.

If Lucy comes back by herself the next day, hurriedly grabs the button-fly jeans in her size from the stack on the display, glances around nervously as she pays for them, and then shoves them in the back of her closet at home with the tags still on, well, Jiya doesn't have to know about that.

**TBC…**


	2. Unbuttoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know… ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Regardless, heed the rating, my friends – they get nekkid.

It's a couple months – and many missions – later that finds Lucy getting dragged out of bed at not even 6 am, having been summoned to Mason Industries for yet another jump. Emma has been ruthless of late, flitting to this time and that on almost a daily basis.

So Lucy's exhausted. Which means she really can't be bothered to change out of her pajamas into real clothes when she's just going to have to put on some historical monstrosity as soon as she gets to the warehouse. Exhaustion also means that even when she is home at a reasonable hour after those jumps, laundry isn't exactly at the top of her priority list, and the current sparse state of her closet is just one more thing to support her decision to trudge to Mason in her baggy, blue striped cotton pants and to just throw on a sports bra under her t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt over everything.

She gets halfway to the front door before she remembers that she'd promised Jiya they could do something that evening (assuming they were back from whatever year Emma had them running to), seeing that it's Friday and they haven't really spent any time together lately with all the missions. Pajamas may work for a 6 am dash to work, but they're not exactly passable for going out later.

So back to the closet Lucy goes. She reaches for a small totebag and hurriedly grabs the first top, sweater, and jeans that look like they vaguely resemble an outfit when put all together, shoves them all in the tote with her makeup bag, underwear, and a bra, and hurries to her car.

The mission is, to put it mildly, utterly crazy. Emma has apparently decided that a massacre on the Massachusetts frontier during Queen Anne's War wasn't enough of a massacre. Lucy, Wyatt, and Rufus manage to keep the excess carnage of the settlers to a minimum, but it nearly kills Lucy to know that they still have to allow the Native Americans, allied with the French, to abscond into the snowy woods with dozens of captive women and children; many would die along the trek to French Canada, but even she doesn't know which make it and which don't, and they can't risk interfering with those who would survive the journey.

Once back in the present, Lucy hurries to the locker room, wanting nothing more than to wash away the frigid chill of February in the Berkshires with a hot shower.

It's when she emerges from the steamy spray that she finally realizes her mistake from that morning.

When she reaches into her bag, it's not well-worn, old jeans that her hand closes around.

It's stiff denim, and she's almost positive she feels a tag and sticky label.

She's actually confused for a second, but as soon as she pulls the garment fully out of the bag, she cringes in realization.

The stupid button-fly jeans.

Crap.

She's still not really sure why she bought them. She certainly never planned on actually _wearing_ them. And definitely not when going out with Jiya, who, if she sees them, will never let Lucy hear the end of it.

Lucy lowers herself to sit on the locker room bench, still wrapped in her towel, clutching the stupid jeans. She looks around helplessly for a second, but quickly resigns herself to the fact that she doesn't really have any other options unless she's willing to sport something along the lines of totally groovy bell-bottoms from the wardrobe dock. And even then, she'd still have to go get them – while wearing either a towel or pajamas – and explain _why_ she had to get them.

So she reluctantly yanks the tags off and peels the size sticker from the leg.

At least the sweater she'd grabbed is a long cardigan, and she can always leave her blouse untucked. Jiya won't see. They'll go to a bar, sit, get their girly drinks, and go home a little tipsy, but she won't see. And there will be no reason to call her out on wearing the stupid jeans that match Wyatt's that she's said she wasn't going to get. Or the fact that yeah, she's still pathetically mooning over him like a twelve year-old with a crush.

She towels herself off and throws on her clothes, including the stiff, slightly uncomfortable new jeans. A little makeup, and a few minutes with the hair dryer, and she's off to meet Jiya and figure out what their plans actually are.

But when Lucy finds Jiya, it's not just Jiya that she finds. Rufus and Wyatt are hovering, and the whole trio looks over expectantly as Lucy approaches. She tugs her long sweater tight around herself, feeling like they all see the damn jeans and the stupid fly and know how dumb she was acting when she bought them.

"I told them it was supposed to be girls' night," Jiya explains, "but these doofuses insist we all do something together."

Lucy instinctively steals a quick glance at Wyatt before focusing back on Jiya. "What something?" she inquires, as casually as she can manage. It's not that she doesn't like when the four of them get together outside of work – really, they're pretty much the only friends she can do so with at this point, given that she's not at liberty to discuss much of anything about her current life with anyone – but she was kind of hoping for just some low-key drinks with Jiya without the heightened tension, at least on her part, that seems to always come when Wyatt is nearby.

Jiya begins her reply with a roll of her eyes in the guys' direction. "I thought maybe one of those escape rooms-"

"But those sound a lot less fun when you've actually had to get out of jail," Rufus interjects.

"And a death chamber," Wyatt echoes.

"So then I said laser tag…" Jiya continues.

"…and I think we get enough of the guns and the shooting during our day job," Rufus finishes for her.

"I actually agree on those," Lucy says, offering Jiya an apologetic shrug.

"Okay, well, I asked a friend," Jiya informs them, "and she suggested The Color Factory downtown." She eyes them all expectantly, as if challenging them to find a way to refute that suggestion too.

Wyatt and Rufus just shrug and exchange bewildered glances. Lucy's not quite sure what she's referring to either; she thinks maybe she saw some sort of review for it online, but she's still not quite sure what it _is._ Other than colorful. And really popular. "Isn't it sold out for months?"

"Yeah, but we know a guy," Jiya counters knowingly, nodding up to where they can see Connor Mason in one of the glass-walled conference rooms upstairs.

So that's that. Mason is able to get them special tickets that will be waiting for them at the door, so before Lucy can come up any sort of reasonable protest, the foursome is walking the few blocks to the Caltrain station near Mason Industries. The BART gets them downtown earlier than they need to be there for their ticketed timeslot, so they end up grabbing drinks and a quick dinner.

Lucy may or may not down a drink or two beyond what she normally would have, given Wyatt's arm slung up on the booth behind her, just grazing her shoulders while she's hyper-aware of the button-fly jeans she's wearing, and the fact that her quick search for The Color Factory on her phone reveals it to be a perplexing set of exhibits with balloons, ribbons, confetti, and selfies. None of which are really her thing, but Jiya's excited, and even Rufus is more on board once he finds out what it is. So Lucy figures the little extra dose of alcohol can't be a bad thing if she's expected to go along with the silliness.

And it really is kind of silly, with a scratch-and-sniff wall, black-colored lemonade, and a room full of disco balls and holographic floors. People are taking selfies _everywhere_ , with Rufus and Jiya right in the thick of it. Lucy gamely goes along with the group pictures they insist on, because hell, it is kind of fun to do something so nonsensical when they're normally running through history trying to save the world. The orange room turns out to be a little more poignant, as a commentary on black identity. It's nice for Rufus, but it also end up meaning that he and Jiya kind of go off on their own after that, in their own little couple-y bubble.

Leaving Lucy to either feel awkward on her own or feel awkward as half of a default non-couple with Wyatt.

Which isn't a problem, not really. He's probably her best friend at this point; she just wishes sometimes that they were more than that. Normally Lucy's able to keep that sentiment at bay, but she had that stupid moment of weakness when she'd bought the stupid jeans because they happened to remind her of him. And her carelessness that morning that's left her wearing them while out with him on what feels more and more like it could be a date, given that Rufus and Jiya have abandoned them? Yeah, it's a little weird.

But Wyatt, charming as he is, manages to diffuse a little bit of that, getting her to laugh when she halfheartedly investigates a selfie camera mounted on the wall only to have him sneak up behind her to tickle her and trigger the photo. (They both look ridiculous in the picture when it pops up in her email, but she knows she'll keep it, for the same reason she bought the stupid jeans.) In the green-themed room, he elicits more laughs when he draws a terrible rendition of the lifeboat on the wall with a marker more than half as big as he is. It's even more ridiculous when he insists she draw the mothership to go along with it; the marker _is_ as big as her. She's laughing even harder when he claims to have depicted the lifeboat again on the giant Lite-Brite wall; really, it's just a circle.

Lucy's not laughing, however, in the next room – a dense jungle of colorful ribbons hanging from the ceiling that doesn't seem ominous in any way. At least not until she's in the thick of it and can't tell where she is, with her claustrophobia rearing its ugly head. Frozen, she chokes out his name.

She jumps when she feels a hand on her waist, but relaxes immediately when Wyatt's face emerges close to hers from the tangle of ribbons. She leans into him gratefully, and she's thankful when he doesn't leave her side until they emerge from the exhibit back out into the open. His arm drops away from around her waist when they do, but, to Lucy's surprise, his hand slips into hers as they transition into the next room full of endless giant blue balloons. He bats them toward her head with one hand, but doesn't let his other loosen its grip on hers.

It's surreal, that small concession to what would normally be considered couple territory, but then, so is the whole colorful, Willy Wonka-esque atmosphere they're immersed in. So Lucy tries not to question it and just enjoy the little thrill that runs through her at the feel of his slightly-calloused-but-still-soft palm and his fingers threaded through hers.

To Lucy's dismay, he does let go in the next room, but before she can really register that he's not by her side anymore, she finds herself showered in confetti. A little squeak of surprise slips out and she whirls around to find Wyatt wearing a mischievous grin. Even though she's laughing, there's no question about retaliation; she crouches down, scoops up as much confetti as she can, and throws it right in his face. When he bends down to gather up a second round, Lucy spins around, playfully darting away in feigned escape. But he just comes after her, looping one arm around her waist and tossing another batch of confetti over her. She surrenders after that one; she'd rather have his arm around her than duck down away from him to grab more confetti.

And maybe it's wishful thinking, but it almost seems like Wyatt is of the same mind, because he doesn't reach for more confetti either, but instead leads her, just like that with his arm tight around her lower back, to the next room. Which happens to be devoted purely to taking and printing selfies.

He hugs her closer, they snap the picture, and when it prints out, Lucy's a little self-conscious at just how giddy she looks in it. But Wyatt's gaze lingers on it, and then he tucks it in his back pocket. Lucy's breath catches in her throat when she sees him do so, but she doesn't have a chance to process what it's making her feel, because he reaches for her hand again, leading her to the last exhibit.

Which is a giant yellow Chuck E. Cheese-style ball pit.

Wyatt makes a beeline for the pit, dragging Lucy with him, but she balks at the edge; she's awkward enough on solid ground.

But, it turns out that in addition to being awkward, she's also a complete pushover when Wyatt's spent the last half-hour being more affectionate than she ever would have expected. One smirk from him with a nod in the direction of the ball pit, and she can't say no.

So she takes a tentative leap into the sea of yellow plastic. She feels Wyatt land next to her with a flourish just a second later.

And she was right; it's so awkward. Sure, she's laughing, but mostly because she's struggling to even stand up. Wyatt's no help, just lounging there like he's on a Caribbean beach or something, watching her flail with a bemused grin. Lucy finally manages to get herself upright, already searching for the best way back up onto the platform around the pit, when she feels him grab her hand.

He has the audacity to pull her back down.

Lucy yelps as she stumbles and she's already halfway to chastising him, but the words die out when she ends up landing half on top of him. She's definitely speechless when he shifts himself deeper into the pit, essentially causing gravity to take over and roll her over onto his chest. She braces herself with her hands on his shoulders while his hands fly to her waist. It kind of takes her breath away, because hand-holding is one thing, but now she's on top of him, in public no less.

"Should have known you'd be extra clumsy in here," he teases from beneath her.

So much for that moment. Lucy barks a laugh and shovels an armload of the bright yellow balls into his face.

She manages to extricate herself from the tangle of Wyatt's arms and legs, pulling herself once more to a standing position. He surfaces a second later, looking a little flustered, but that expression quickly fades to laughter again. He hauls himself up after her and they both begin the trudge toward the easiest exit route. Wyatt's hand is at the small of her back the whole way.

Once at the edge of the pit, Lucy barely has a chance to contemplate the least ridiculous way to climb out when she feels Wyatt's hands encircle her waist once more. And then suddenly she's sitting on the edge, with him gazing up at her from down below. Then he hops up next to her in one swift motion and reaches for her hand to help her to her feet.

Again, he doesn't let go.

Lucy's pulse is racing and her stomach is doing a weird fluttery thing.

Because of that flutter, not to mention the few drinks she'd had earlier that must be why this whole night is feeling incredibly bizarre and dreamlike, she declines the bright yellow banana ice cream cone that comes with the exhibit. Wyatt just shrugs, drops her hand, and takes hers anyway, making quick work of both the mini-cones before suggesting that they should probably try and track down Rufus and Jiya.

The mention of their friends is a stark reminder that reality awaits. Lucy follows obediently when Wyatt heads for the exit without reaching for her hand again. They find Rufus and Jiya out in the crowded area by the restrooms, so the four of them quickly duck out to the sidewalk, with Jiya hurriedly offering an apology for having pretty much ditched Wyatt and Lucy.

Lucy just shoots Jiya a weak smile, and once out in the cool evening air, gulps a deep breath. She has no idea what just happened in there.

After the sensory overload from the combination of the surreal setting of the Color Factory in combination with… well, whatever that was with Wyatt, Lucy's reluctant to venture back into the real world, into real life where they trudge to a dirty, noisy BART station and take the dirty, noisy BART back to the dirty, noisy Caltrain to get to their cars and just go their separate ( _very_ separate) ways. Back to what they do every other regular (or as regular as their lives get at this point) day.

Back in there? In that silly world of colors and textures and selfies and laughs? Especially with Rufus and Jiya off doing their own thing, it's like she and Wyatt have been isolated in some heady little bubble of heightened senses and, at least on her part, poorly-tempered exhilaration.

Or at least from where she's standing, that's how it had felt. She's never been one to quite trust that what she's feeling is mutual. Not with middle-school crushes, not with college study group partners, not with more adult interactions in grad school and beyond, and certainly not with Wyatt, he of the only-once-mentioned possibilities and the dead wife.

Still, she's reluctant to let that bubble go, even if she knows it'll pop eventually.

So when, once all out on the sidewalk, Rufus and Jiya beg off, claiming it's later than they thought and blaming some brunch they have to go to at her cousin's place in the morning, Lucy's more than on board when Jiya suggests that she and Wyatt still go to the bar they'd been planning to try.

They all say their goodbyes, with Rufus and Jiya heading off in the direction opposite to where Lucy and Wyatt will head to the bar.

And as Lucy casts one last glance down the block at them, she's surprised – but delighted, for sure – to feel one of Wyatt's arms slip over her shoulder. So he'd been a little… handsy inside. But now? Still? Maybe it hasn't just been her feeling… whatever this is?

"Shall we?" he asks, his voice low and inviting in her ear.

Lucy nods her assent, secretly more than pleased that he seems to be intent on continuing the casual physical contact from inside.

They begin the short walk to the bar, and, feeling a little emboldened by the fact that Wyatt leaves his arm draped over her shoulders, Lucy slides her arm around his waist and lets her head rest against him.

But as soon as she does, Wyatt freezes right there in the middle of the sidewalk.

Well, fuck.

Bubble burst. She's pushed too far.

Lucy jerks her head back up off his shoulder and drops her arm from his waist, a stammering apology at the ready, but then instead of next to her, he's in front of her and his hands are reaching up to frame her face and then he's kissing her, and oh _god_ , is it good.

In that first split second, Lucy's hands grip haphazardly at his shirt simply because that's the closest thing to where they already were, but that tiny bit of tension eases as quickly as it flares.

For all those times she's doubted that he wants her, this kiss is anything but that nervous, anxious excitement that Lucy's so used to for uncertain first kisses.

 _This_ – her arms easing up on that initial grip to loop around Wyatt's neck, his hands dropping from her face to skim her waist, his teeth nipping her lip, his tongue sliding so naturally over hers – is everything all her other first kisses have not been.

It's not frantic or awkward or fraught with weighty expectations. It's _Wyatt._

Which Lucy still can't quite believe, but that's not going to stop her from indulging her senses in the feel – and taste (the banana ice cream he'd just had), and sound (he's breathing just as heavily as her), and scent (she still hasn't been able to pin down what kind of cologne he uses when they're in the present day, but she's been smelling it all evening and it's all kinds of intoxicating, especially now with quite literally no distance between them) – of him.

(Sight of sight? Well, forgive her for letting her eyes fall shut the moment his lips make contact with hers. And really, that's the one sense she's let herself indulge in when it comes to Wyatt since the day they'd met.)

She sighs against his mouth and tightens her arms around him when he tugs her hips closer with one hand, the other splayed over her back.

It's exhilarating. It is. But, Lucy realizes quickly, part of what's making it so is that, somehow, it just… _comfortable_. And easy and natural and relaxed and not rushed or desperate, as if they've been doing this for years.

Which… have they? Technically, Lucy supposes, as she allows herself half a grin against Wyatt's lips. It's not _actually_ their first kiss; that was eighty-plus years ago.

She feels him smile right back before coaxing her back into the kiss, and she happily obliges, easing right back into the lazily delicious tangle of tongues. It feels _right._

At least it does until breathing starts to become a bit of a problem.

Lucy breaks the kiss reluctantly, though she can't lie – a proud little thrill runs through her once she sees Wyatt looking rather spellbound as he catches his breath.

Then he chuckles, his gaze darting away for a second. "Probably should have done that a while ago," he admitted with a sheepish shrug.

Given the months that have gone by that saw Lucy convincing herself that it – _they_ – would never happen, she kind of wants to clock him upside the head upon his confession that he's been holding back. A scoff slips out of its own volition, and she deadpans a clipped, incredulous "Yeah."

But she's hardly _actually_ upset with him; the fact that things are indeed now happening is pretty much outweighing everything else aside from the urge to kiss him again.

Which they do, as soon as he looks back up. Their eyes meet again, and they both sort of let out a giddy giggle, and then they're leaning back in. It's possibly even better this time.

When they have to come up for air again, Wyatt's voice is low and husky, his hands gripping her hips and holding her close as he asks, "You still want to go to that bar?"

Considering that Lucy had only wanted to go to prolong the vaguely couple-like mood that had swept over them while inside, that inclination has most certainly been superseded by this new kissing thing and whatever the rest of the night might have in store. She bites her lip. "No."

Wyatt smirks and glances at the crowded street in the direction of the train station, then in the other direction at some people half a block down climbing into a taxi. Nodding towards the car, he prompts slyly, "Wanna skip the train and make out in the back of a cab?"

Lucy can't help but let a wide grin overtake her face as she immediately agrees, "Yes." It's not really something she'd ever been inclined to do before, but the exhilaration fluttering in her stomach as Wyatt's eyes bore into her and his fingertips dig into her waist is more than enough to convince her to just go along with his cheeky suggestion.

He grins right back at her and tucks her against his side so they can both face the street and watch for any free taxis.

At first, none show up, and Lucy is just about to suggest Uber or Lyft instead when a free one heads in their direction. Wyatt quickly flags it down and holds the door open for her.

She shimmies across the backseat, but only as far as the middle, more than willing to see if Wyatt will actually follow through on his suggested form of entertainment for the ride. He slides himself in next to her, and Lucy shivers just a little when she feels his hand almost immediately return to her waist, this time pushing her long cardigan away, his thumb sneaking up under her shirt to the skin of her lower back.

To Lucy's surprise given that both their cars are still in the parking lot at Mason Industries, Wyatt rattles off what she knows to be his address. She's not complaining, but holy crap, that is not a turn she'd expected the night to take when she'd agreed to get drinks with Jiya. She must react visibly somehow, because Wyatt suddenly grips her waist a little tighter and eyes her with concern.

But the fact that he's in tune enough with her to notice that mild surprise means he's certainly good enough at reading her to have been completely correct in assuming that she's okay with going home with him. Lucy gives him a tiny nod of assurance and squeezes his knee.

His expression relaxes back into a lazy grin, and Lucy's a heartbeat away from leaning into him to get started on that makeout session he'd teased when the cab driver pipes up, asking if downtown is home for them or if home is where they're headed.

Wyatt gives a terse, but polite enough, reply and then tugs on Lucy's hip, pulling her snug against him.

The driver, however, doesn't get the memo on Wyatt's intent for the ride.

He points out that Wyatt's place isn't that far from Stanford, and does he know anything about Stanford if he lives near it? His daughter is a junior in high school and has her heart set on going there, but he's heard it's hard to get into, and expensive, and who knows if a big fancy school like that is even worth it, and can't his daughter just major in sociology at San Jose or San Francisco State or somewhere like that instead?

Lucy winces and turns to Wyatt apologetically. It's not as if she isn't just as eager as he is to get her mouth back on his as soon as possible. (She is _so_ eager.) If it had been almost anything else that this guy had asked about, she'd be happy to pretty much ignore him. But, obviously, Stanford is still near and dear to her heart, and she actually has some friends in the sociology department, so she can't help but try and offer the guy a little advice.

She can practically _hear_ Wyatt rolling his eyes behind her as she leans forward to speak a little more candidly with the driver.

But Lucy makes sure that, as she talks, she doesn't remove her hand from where it had been resting on Wyatt's knee. In fact, she lets it drift a little further up his leg and makes it a point to rake her nails gently back and forth over his denim-covered inner thigh.

Wyatt must be appeased enough by that; his hand never drifts from her waist under the back of her shirt unless it's to venture lower from time to time.

The ride flies by, because they're in front of Wyatt's building before Lucy even realizes it. She's kind of dismayed that she and Wyatt didn't get a chance to do anything in the cab, but, then again, she's identified herself as a Stanford professor – it's probably better that they maintained at least some semblance of propriety.

Lucy's just hoping, as she scribbles the name of her colleague on a scrap of paper for the driver's daughter and then thanks him, that whatever little spell she and Wyatt had been under hasn't worn off. Yes, he's brought her to his place, but she's stayed on his couch before, so the fact that she's there doesn't necessarily mean that things between them aren't suddenly squarely back in platonic-ville.

Which would be seriously shitty now that he's teased her with more than that. Well, Lucy hedges mentally as she starts to climb out of the taxi, he hasn't exactly said anything about sex, but that _has_ to be what he'd been implying when he gave the cab driver his address, right?

It's certainly what _she's_ been thinking about, at least on _some_ level since… well, since he'd first opened his eyes in the waiting room at Mason Industries.

But that's neither here nor there at this point because Lucy's worry about Wyatt having a change of heart ends up short-lived when he tugs her away from the car, slamming the door behind her and pulling her against his side. His lips brush against her ear as he murmurs teasingly, "What's that saying? You can take the professor out of the university, but you can't take the university out of the professor?"

Lucy stifles a giggle and jabs him with her elbow. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore him?"

"So you ignore me instead?" Wyatt shoots back, spinning her around to face him while wearing a playful pout.

Playing at scandalized, Lucy's jaw drops. "I didn't-"

But he's instantly cutting her off, declaring, "Kidding," and pulling her flush against him. "I'm _kidding_ ," he reiterates, closing the distance between them to press his lips to hers again.

Lucy grins against his mouth, then slinks her arms up around his neck almost automatically and revels in the sensation of his tongue teasing her own; yeah, she could most certainly get used to this. And while she's not generally one for getting overly demonstrative out in public, when Wyatt's hands slip down into her back pockets to massage a little less than gently, she's not about to stop him.

They linger there a bit longer, lazily getting caught up in the feel of each other until that whole oxygen thing becomes an issue again.

Wyatt pulls back and does that awkward, almost sheepish shrug and look away that he does sometimes before letting his hand drift up to Lucy's back, nudging her in the direction of his door. "Come on," he coaxes, nodding up the walkway.

Lucy feels like she should be more anxious or nervous or impatient or… _something_ , but really, she's _not._ She just kind of sighs and relaxes against Wyatt as his fumbles with his keys one-handed, his other arm never leaving her back.

For all the times she's tried to imagine how things might go if she and Wyatt ever really did make it to this point (which, honestly, she really _didn't_ believe would ever actually happen, given how long they've been stuck in friend-zone limbo), Lucy has always figured she'd be a basketcase, all sorts of awkward and pretty much a bumbling idiot because of just how much she feels for him and how much she so wants it to work between them and the pressure of making those possibilities come to fruition. Because he's Wyatt, essentially.

Granted, it's still only been a few kisses and there's plenty of time for her nerves and klutziness to make themselves known, but really, at least for now, her body is just sort of humming comfortably.

And maybe _that's_ because he's Wyatt?

Maybe it actually makes sense that, at least so far, whatever this is turning out to be is easy and relaxed and comfortable?

Because, for one thing, they've at least done this part before, Lucy realizes as Wyatt pushes his apartment door open and ushers her inside.

Not with kiss-swollen lips and her tinted lip balm faintly smeared around his mouth, but she _had_ crashed there for a while when she'd needed refuge from her own mother. So even now, with possibilities-turned-near-certainties crackling in the air between them, they still manage to slip into their old, practiced routine from those couple of weeks as Lucy toes off her sneakers and nudges them onto the doormat next to where Wyatt's own sneakers and boots are neatly lined up. While he shrugs off his jacket, she eases off her cardigan and hangs it on the hook that had been designated hers while she'd stayed with him. As Wyatt drops his jacket on the adjacent hook, Lucy loops the strap of her purse over her already-hanging sweater.

She has to stifle a giggle when Wyatt gets stuck in one of his shoes; stymied by the laces, he crouches down and curses under his breath at an uncooperative knot.

Already missing the feel of his hands and mouth on her, Lucy inches back further into the apartment even as she keeps her gaze locked on him in anticipation; she's still not quite sure how far this will end up going, and she's even fine with it not going beyond what they've already been doing. But she figures it can't hurt to increase the proximity to the couch…

There's a flurry of mumbled cursing and a low thud as Wyatt gives up on the knot and just takes off the too-tightly-tied shoe with brute force, sending it careening against the wall when it finally pops off his foot.

And then he's just suddenly _there_. Right in front of her, his hands already reaching for her waist.

But without even making a conscious decision to do so, Lucy finds herself backing away from Wyatt, her hand trailing over one of his arms that had just been reaching for her.

Not that she's backing _far_ away… Just a few feet to the couch, and Wyatt's following in hot pursuit anyway.

Lucy drops to sit, not able to suppress the slightly goofy grin she's sure she's wearing. At least Wyatt is wearing a matching one as he eases down next to her, bracing himself with his arm on the back of the couch so he's hovering over her just a bit.

"Hi," she says, feeling almost giddy as she reaches for his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the rasp of his stubble.

Wyatt smiles under her palm, replying with a pretty giddy-looking expression of his own, "Hi."

Then he leans in once more, capturing her lips with his. Lucy hums her approval into the kiss and slides her arms around his neck, the kiss deepening as she does, Wyatt's hands skimming up and down her sides.

Really, it's just momentum. And gravity, Lucy thinks fleetingly when she feels her back hit the couch cushions, both of them suddenly horizontal. He had been leaning over her, and when he kissed her, they were off-balance, and really, it only made sense to lie down. Because of physics. Obviously. Rufus and Jiya would back her up on the physics thing, she's sure. Not that she really thinks she'll need an excuse or get blamed for being the one to push it that little bit further, because Wyatt's now practically purring against her mouth when she experiments with raking her nails up over the back of his shirt.

The only problem is that she's flat on her back, yes, but they had been sitting, however briefly. So her legs are still lingering in the remnants of that seated pose, awkwardly contorted and still hanging off the side of the couch. Which also means that Wyatt's also oddly draped over her side, more on the couch than on her.

And though she has only a sum total of ten or so minutes of experience to go on in terms of kissing Wyatt, Lucy's well aware that their current haphazard position is not the best one to be doing such things in. Without breaking the kiss, she reaches for his hips, applying just enough pressure to nudge him into putting more of his weight on his knees for a second. When he complies, Lucy slips one leg under him and pulls her other leg up off the floor so she's now fully lying on the couch.

Wyatt immediately eases himself back down, settling between her legs; Lucy can't help but let out a little hiccup of surprise against his mouth when he hits her just so, his pelvis flush against hers. She's at least known what's it's like to kiss him since that night back in 1934, but this was most certainly not the position they were in when sharing that tiny bed.

Lucy prefers this.

She hooks one leg around the back of his thigh, arching up into him as Wyatt snakes one arm under her shoulders and neck. There's an easy, relaxed give-and-take of tongues, lips, and teeth; his other hand sneaks up under her thin blouse to skim her ribcage and bra; she returns the favor, dragging her nails over the bare skin of his back under his shirts.

It _is_ easy, and it _is_ relaxed, and that's part of what's making it _so_ amazing, but hey, it's still Wyatt, and they're still on top of each other on a couch like horny teenagers, so it's not like things weren't going to escalate.

Escalate they do, breathing growing a little heavier, skin growing warmer to the touch, and Wyatt, well, just growing, which Lucy can't help but writhe against when it registers that that's what she's feeling.

Wyatt pulls away from her mouth when she does, his forehead dropping into the crook of her neck with a groan. He shifts his hips and presses back down against her again, and Lucy's pulse quickens even more than it already had been.

He eventually sweeps his lips back over hers, the rocking of their hips getting a little more frantic and erratic.

Until Lucy feels an odd tug, accompanied by the rasp of metal on metal simultaneous to a grunt then a hiss of pain from Wyatt. He lifts his head away from Lucy, grumbling, "What the-?"

It's only when he pushes up a bit further onto his elbows and Lucy feels another tug that she realizes what's happened.

She's wearing the stupid, stupid button-fly jeans.

She glances down to the space between them; indeed, one of her buttons has become wedged between the flat metal bits of his military-style belt buckle. Which, for her, meant a weird little pulling sensation on her jeans. She cringes, imagining that it was far more uncomfortable for him to have any of that unexpectedly digging into some rather sensitive anatomy. The start of an apology is just about to slip out, but Wyatt finds his voice first.

"Okay," he grouses, though only sounding half serious as he pries his buckle free, "that's a hazard." He glares pointedly at the buttons once he gets the offending one released.

Lucy's eyes widen, indignant. "Oh, _you_ can wear a button-fly but not me?"

"How did you…" Wyatt trails off, his gaze questioning.

Confused by his confusion, Lucy reminds him, "In Chicago, you said-" And then it dawns on her. He'd left a pair in 1954; does he actually have another one? "Wait, _now_?"

In response, he pushes himself off her further, rolling sideways a bit and lifting his hips.

And okay, Lucy knows she's meant to be zeroing in on the fly itself, but her breath catches and a rush of heat floods her veins because, though she'd felt him against her, it's a whole different story to have, from _beneath_ the fly, the visual confirmation that he is most definitely into this, they are most definitely happening, and yeah, sex is definitely happening too.

He might have said something else, but really, she's kind of stuck on that sight for a second, and the next thing she hears is him goading her, "All the shit that went down on that trip and you remember _that_?"

All Lucy can muster is a guilty shrug; so she'd looked – then and now, sue her. At least right now she's probably already rather flushed from their… activities, so Wyatt won't be able to read too much, if at all, into any excess blushing when she recalls stealing a glance back when he'd dropped that complete non sequitur back in Chicago.

He's quiet for a minute, and she's almost afraid that the bubble finally has burst for half a second there, silence falling over them, but then Wyatt reaches down, running his fingertips over the line of four buttons of her jeans. She sucks in a sharp breath.

"Don't get me wrong," Wyatt murmurs, his voice husky and low as he looks her up and down appreciatively, "I like the look – you look _good_. But yours aren't covered," he points out, pulling his hand away from her to tug his shirt away from his crotch to emphasize his own fly. "These are - it's safer," he nods down, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Lucy hasn't quite known what to do with her hands since he pushed up away from her following the button catching, but the look he's giving her is stirring up some ideas. Emboldened by his running his fingers up the buttons of her fly, she reaches out to mimic the action. Of course, with the covered men's fly, that means it's a little more of a hands-on process, prying up the excess fabric to actually finger the buttons. A little shiver runs up her spine when she hears Wyatt let out a shaky breath at the contact.

So she bites her lip and musters up the gumption to push it further and press a palm to the solid ridge trapped beneath that fly, gripping lightly.

Wyatt shudders above her, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Your belt was just as much the problem," Lucy asserts with feigned innocence, grinning up at him, letting her hand drift over his length ever so slightly.

"Am I stopping you from taking it off?" he throws right back at her.

The thrill that his words incite has her immediately sliding her hands up to his belt buckle.

Lucy has it halfway open when she freezes, the first real inkling of doubt since the sidewalk downtown suddenly creeping in.

She certainly doesn't doubt that he wants her, right now, in this moment. And honestly, she knows Wyatt well enough to know that he knows _her_ well enough to know that she's not really one to do anything like this casually. It's _Wyatt_ ; she trusts him. But enough failed and non-existent relationships to leave her still single at thirty-five have given her just enough self-doubt that she can't push herself any further without making sure.

"Are we actually doing this?" She asks, her voice soft and tentative, still looking down at her hand on his belt. "Us?" she adds before dragging her gaze up uncertainly to meet Wyatt's. "For real, not just tonight? Because I-"

Her answer comes in the form of a searing kiss that cuts her off and Wyatt's full weight pressing down on her once more.

"For real," he breathes when he finally breaks away. "Everything."

That confirmation sets Lucy's stomach all aflutter and, not knowing quite how to react, she simply holds Wyatt's face with her hands and tugs him down for yet another kiss, this one a little gentler, a little sweeter then they have been in recent minutes.

Wyatt responds in kind, cradling her jaw with one hand, sweeping his thumb over her cheek. He pulls away with an roguish smirk, pointing out, "I mean, this doesn't exactly suck."

Lucy can't help but raise an eyebrow at that wording given their rather compromising position and the fact that she's pretty sure they'll end up in some that are even more compromising. "So no sucking?" she asks, teasing cheekily.

Wyatt's eyebrows are the ones to shoot up after that, his expression amused. "I did _not_ say that," he contradicts, proving his point by ducking his head and attempting to latch onto her neck.

Lucy squeals a protest when she feels the gentle tug of suction against her skin, giggling and trying to squirm away. But really, she doesn't actually care if he leaves a mark, and he's transitioned to just pressing a line of kisses along her collarbone instead anyway. Which she's most definitely not complaining about. While Wyatt continues, she breathes out a contented sigh and lets her hands drift back down to his belt. She finagles that open, then slides her hand a bit lower, cupping him through the rough denim and giving the slightest of squeezes.

She's rewarded with a hum of approval against her neck, and god, if everything already feels this good and they're still clothed, she really can't wait until the clothes come off and he's not just in her hand, but inside _her._

And that's when she remembers. And freezes.

He _can't_ be inside her. Not _just_ him, anyway.

Lucy had been on the pill for years, mostly just out of habit, even during the single stretches, but it turns out that time travel is less than conducive to staying on a strict daily medication regimen.

So for almost a year now, she's been going without. And it hasn't mattered the tiniest bit, considering the closest she's come to sex in that time frame is listening to Bonnie and Clyde in the next bed over.

But now? It's not as if Lucy's worried on any sort of disease front; she trusts Wyatt implicitly to not put her at any sort of risk there. It's the other issue.

Jesus, the absolute _last_ thing they need on top of her family drama, and Rittenhouse, and the rest of the mess is for her to end up _pregnant._ But even if Lucy was willing to risk a little bit, she knows her body well enough to realize that this is probably the worst part of the month to even consider taking that gamble.

"Wyatt," Lucy whispers reluctantly, running her fingers through his hair to still him. "Do you have-" She really can't even bring herself to say the actual word because she'll be devastated if it all falls apart now. Not that there aren't other things they can do, but still… "I don't exactly… carry anything with me," she admits shyly, "and we didn't stop to buy..." She's left trailing off when he leans away from her, gazing at her with an oddly pensive expression.

She's even more confused and dismayed when he carefully climbs off her, jeans still visibly tight and his belt hanging open. A protest and a reminder that they can still do _some_ stuff is on the tip of her tongue, but then he stands and reaches for her.

"C'mere," Wyatt murmurs, nodding across the apartment in the direction of his bedroom.

Well, now Lucy is really confused. But also not about to say no. So she accepts his outstretched hand, pulls herself to stand, and follows him down the hallway.

Once they reach his room, Wyatt leads Lucy over to the bed, gesturing for her to sit. So she does, and folds her legs up under her to sit cross-legged as she watches him, her curiosity more than piqued.

He steps over to the nightstand, pulls open the small drawer, and retrieves what looks and sounds to be a small plastic shopping bag. Wyatt then turns and drops down on the mattress to sit next to Lucy, handing it to her without a word.

It is indeed a small bag, bold red letters spelling out CVS on the side. She shoots Wyatt a questioning gaze, but he just nods down at the bag in her lap.

She holds it open and pulls out a box of condoms and a bottle of combo massage gel and lubricant. For half a second, Lucy has to smile at the fact that not only has Wyatt gone a step beyond just condoms, but the condoms themselves are 'for her pleasure'. It just seems like him to pick those. But those thoughts are fleeting, because she still doesn't quite get why he's being cryptic and is making such a fanfare of showing them to her instead of just simply answering her question. She says as much, eyeing him skeptically. "So… yes?" she ventures.

Things aren't any more clear when he just sits there and nods down at the bag again. "There's a receipt."

Lucy frowns, setting the box and bottle on the bed between them, then reaching into the bag again. There is indeed a receipt. And, when she skims over the print on it, she can see it lists the condoms and lube. And gum, but she hardly thinks that's what he's meaning for her to notice. He'd paid in cash, she recognizes the store was the one not far from her end of the Stanford campus, the date is…

Dates in the present time haven't been her strength since time travel became a regular part of her routine, so it takes her a second, but given that there's nothing else notable about the receipt, she flips back through her mental calendar to a few months ago. "This was..." she starts, trying to pin down the timing, "the day we got back from 1954?"

Wyatt scoffs an incredulous laugh, which isn't helping with Lucy's confusion. "Uh," he says pointedly, " _I_ got back that day. _You_ got back that night." His tone is less indignant when he continues explaining, "Rufus and Jiya went to the hospital. I was by myself with Christopher and Mason. Pretty much crawling the walls, going crazy waiting for you."

Tiny tendrils of guilt grip Lucy's stomach; she'd known he hadn't wanted to leave her with Flynn in the past, but with the crazy flurry of activity once she'd gotten back, she'd never gotten to apologize, or to really take the time to think about what it had been like for him back in the present while waiting for her to show up. Looks like she's about to find out.

"Christopher got so sick of me acting insane that she ordered me to go get lunch or something," Wyatt explains. "I went to that stupid strip mall, to the Chipotle. Couldn't eat though. I was too worried about you and that I'd never see you again." He snorts a laugh, continuing, "So I end up just pacing. At the stupid mini-mall. And, I don't know," he admits, "the CVS there? Suddenly I'm in it at it seems like it makes sense to buy those," he says, gesturing down to the condoms on the bed. "It was like it was the only concrete thing I could do about being with you until you got back. Like if I had this stuff, of course I'd have to tell you how I felt-" He stops short there, looking up at Lucy almost accusingly. "Do you have _any_ idea how close I was to just kissing you right there in 1954? In front of Rufus and Flynn? And your grandfather?"

Lucy can't help but smile at all of that, a little giddy feeling bubbling in her stomach. Not only is it both amusing and flattering to think that he was so worried about her that it had spurred him to suddenly start strategizing for sex and a relationship, but she'd be lying if she says the notion of a goodbye kiss hadn't crossed her mind back in '54 too. She doesn't have time to lament that missed chance, because Wyatt speaks up again, continuing his explanation.

"I dunno," he shrugs, dropping his gaze from hers. "Made sense at the time. Buy condoms, talk to you, be together, use 'em. Like I said," he sighs, sneaking a wry glance back up at her, "I was pretty much convincing myself that Flynn left you dead in the '50s and I'd never see you again, so logic was maybe a little lacking especially on the details of that plan." He shifts his position a little, shrugging again. "Then you were back, but we had to find Ethan and the storage room and then all of a sudden it's over and we're going to get Amy and freaking Connor Mason just _waltzes_ in and then your mother and Emma, and here we are however many months later. So yeah." He pauses for a beat, then pokes at the box of condoms. "It's not like I just always have those sitting around. Or _ever_ ," he adds, before trailing off evasively, "I haven't…"

That giddy feeling – pretty much the same one Lucy had felt that day in the Mason Industries hallway – surges again at Wyatt's frustrated mention of Connor Mason interrupting them, so it takes her half a second to catch up with what he's actually saying when he stops talking.

Oh. _Oh_.

She's kicking herself for not having realized when she'd first asked if he had any protection that it would have made complete sense if he didn't. She's had a front row seat to so much of his devotion to Jessica; who exactly was she thinking that he'd have condoms around for?

 _Her_ , apparently.

The knowledge that she's the one that Wyatt is finally willing to take that step for is going to be really overwhelming if she thinks about it too hard. Or at all, let's be honest, so Lucy quickly pushes that out of her mind and switches gears to trying to assuage any hints of insecurity in his admission.

"Me either," she admits, trying to reassure him that it doesn't matter in the least. "I mean," she hedges, knowing that even demanding tenure preparations and living at home to care for a dying mother still aren't quite the same as grieving your spouse, "different reason, but…" She takes a deep breath, "Yeah, it's been a while."

Lucy thinks she can see a bit of appreciation for her reciprocal admission in Wyatt's eyes when he looks at her again.

He's still looking a little bashful when he nudges the box again with a shrug and a smile, "Well… those were for us."

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? It's _them._ She's sitting there, with Wyatt, on his bed, both of them finally on the same page and actually doing something about it. And, she thinks to herself, feeling a smile break out once more, he's gotten them condoms so it actually _can_ happen. She grins widely back at him. "That is..." she pauses, picking up the box and toying with the thin cardboard, biting her lip and then nodding, "a much better story than if we had just stopped at the Walgreen's we passed on the way here."

Wyatt chuckles at that and leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss. He backs away all too quickly for Lucy's preference, but she's okay with it when she realizes the pause is only so he can promise her, "Either way, we fix the 'been a while' thing."

Lucy leans in to pick up the kiss where it had left off, but then thinks better of it and ducks away. "You know," she points out coyly, "you still skipped a step. Never actually _told_ me how you feel."

That initially earns her a scoff and an eye roll from Wyatt, but then he grows more serious. "I have," he starts, then searches for the words for a moment. "…fallen so far and so hard I even know which way is up. I didn't expect you," he admits, those soulful blue eyes fixed right on her. "But I can't imagine not having you in my life."

Well, now Lucy's regretting her attempt to be cheeky in asking that question, because her eyes well up, and, while she's thrilled to death that Wyatt feels that way, she really didn't want to end up crying tonight – not during _this_ – even if they're sappy, happy tears. So she forces a sniffly laugh, quipping, "Yeah, can't imagine time traveling bossy know-it-all was ever on your agenda."

But then, even though they're here now, the tears threaten again because she's still a little heartbroken on Wyatt's behalf when he quietly admits with a disbelieving shake of his head, "No one was." He follows it up with a chuckle though, adding, "But no, definitely not that." And, nudging her in the leg with that trademark smirk of his, his tone turns much more playful as he teases, "Pretty sure reckless, hotheaded soldiers from Texas aren't actually your speed either."

Lucy's grateful to him for going along with the lighter side of the conversation, and keeps it going. "No," she deadpans, "I specifically look for those."

They both laugh at that, but she does slip back into a little more of a contemplative mood, looking down to where her thumb is still absently prying up the corner of the box of condoms. "I didn't expect you either," Lucy confesses softly.

And it's true; she hadn't expected to fall for the cocky asshole who couldn't be bothered to open his eyes and take his feet off the coffee table when they first met, and as of just over an hour ago, she still hadn't expected any of this to actually play out this way, with Wyatt not just returning her feelings, but being ready and willing to act on them.

Wyatt must have had enough of the sappy moments too; the next thing Lucy knows, he's pressing another kiss to her mouth, tracing her lower lip with his tongue. His hands fly to her hips, tugging her closer until she ends up straddling him as he sits on the edge of the bed, her knees on either side of him on the mattress. A little gasp slips out into his mouth when she settles down onto his lap, but Wyatt just takes that opportunity to deepen the kiss and slide his tongue over hers.

Then his hands drift up from her hips, wandering up under the back of her shirt, and Lucy's thinking that if this is really happening, there are far too many shirts still involved in general. Her mouth never leaving Wyatt's, she begins prying open, one-by-one, the buttons of the collared shirt he'd worn over his t-shirt. It's getting pushed off his shoulders a beat later, and his hands only leave her body for the split second it takes to yank the sleeves down off his arms.

That shirt gone, Lucy rakes her nails over the front of his t-shirt, though she falters for a second when Wyatt breaks the kiss to press his lips to the exposed skin of her neck. Her eyes flutter closed and she swallows hard as he trails his kisses lower toward her collarbone. But she's certainly not about to stop him, so she takes the opportunity to reach between them and get to work on another set of buttons.

She has to admit, for as good as all of this is, after having to keep her distance for so long, it's still a little bizarre when she pops open the last button on his fly and peels back the thick fabric to release some of the pressure on him. But, weird or not, it's definitely a thrill when she grips him for the first time, the heavy warmth of him apparent even through the material of his boxers.

Wyatt lets out a little groan against her neck when Lucy eases her hand up and down ever so slightly, and suddenly his lips are back on hers as she feels his hands move to the buttons of her jeans.

Except the stiff, new fabric is uncooperative, and the buttonholes maybe not yet stretched out quite enough, because, while he gets the top button open just fine, the rest prove to be frustrating and unyielding.

He breaks the kiss, leaning back in exasperation. "Okay, seriously. Now I really kind of hate these," he grumbles, yanking on the unforgiving denim of her waistband. "Please don't wear 'em anymore."

"I just got them," Lucy pouts, now significantly more attached to the jeans than she had been in earlier given what's transpired since then.

"They're a pain in the ass," Wyatt whines. "Why the hell would you buy them?"

Lucy's sure she's flushing bright red, and not because she's still basically got her hand in his pants, as she admits haltingly, "I, um, knew someone had thing for button-fly jeans from Gap."

With a shake of his head and a smirk of disbelief, Wyatt looks at her with a little wonder in his gaze. "They're even Gap?"

Lucy just shrugs with a sheepish nod.

He just grins and lifts his hands up to frame her face and draw her in for another kiss.

Not that Lucy minds, but when she doesn't feel him go back for her jeans, she pulls away, teasing, "Giving up?"

"No, ma'am," he chuckles, reaching for her hips, but this time to push her away. "Get up."

Readily complying with his request, Lucy shimmies back off his lap to stand in front of him. He leans down to inspect the stubborn buttons and Lucy feels a shiver of anticipation at eventually having his head in that vicinity for other reasons.

When Wyatt doesn't immediately make a move to unbutton anything, Lucy runs a hand through his hair affectionately and offers, "I can just-" She'd gotten them _on_ , after all.

But of course he's just as stubborn as the stupid fly is, brushing her off with a cocky, "I got it."

Except he doesn't 'got it' quite as well as he thinks he does and he ends up yanking on the jeans hard enough to drag Lucy around a little. Not that she minds; she just laughs, raking her nails through his hair again.

And then he's finally got the buttons all open. "See?" he declares triumphantly. "Success."

Lucy's not one for much of any sort of striptease-type display, but she doesn't miss the appreciative stare Wyatt's giving her as she peels the tight jeans down over her legs. She steps out of the pants, toeing off her socks with them, and immediately it's not just Wyatt's eyes on her anymore. She shivers as his hands dance lightly on her skin and underwear, skimming over her stomach, hips, and backside.

But he's still sitting there on the bed in front of her, fully dressed save for the long-sleeved shirt she'd already pulled off him.

Lucy doesn't want him dressed anymore.

She steps closer, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his mouth, then reaches further down to hook her thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. "Up," she instructs, urging him to lift his hips.

Wyatt just eyes her slyly in response, then makes a show of glancing pointedly down at himself, his hard length tenting his boxers up out of the open fly of his jeans. "Yes."

An incredulous snort of a laugh escapes Lucy as she rolls her eyes. She supposes maybe she walked into that one a little.

But Wyatt does comply and lift his hips up off the mattress, allowing Lucy to push the jeans to the floor. She debates just taking the boxers down with them, but in the end isn't quite brazen enough to do so just yet.

He pulls her immediately back down to straddle his lap, his hands running up and down her thighs, sneaking behind her and slipping under the stretchy fabric of her underwear. She squirms against him when he pulls her even closer, whimpering into his mouth as they melt into another kiss.

Lucy ends up running hands up Wyatt's chest, over his shoulders, around the back of his neck – anywhere she can reach, really, just wanting to feel him under her palms. But it's not long before he's mumbling against her mouth, "Just get it off."

It's not the exact same wording, but Lucy can't help but recall the last time he'd made such a request, within just a couple days of meeting. She leans back a little to tug up his t-shirt, guiding it up and over his head, observing, "That is... totally different when you're not bleeding from a gunshot."

Wyatt snorts out a chuckle, but seems more focused on getting hands back on her than anything else.

Lucy, however, trails her fingers down his now-bare torso, tracing over the small scar from the bullet. But the last thing she wants to dwell on right now is the prospect of Wyatt ever getting shot again, so she quickly redirects her ministrations, running both hands up his chest. She drags her thumbs over his nipples, eliciting a shudder from him. He responds by dropping his lips to her neck, trailing kisses down across her collarbone again, then venturing lower.

"You have too much on," he declares against her skin in the V-neckline of her blouse.

Lucy leans back, eyeing him skeptically. "You watched me get undressed three hours after we met. _Now_ you need an engraved invitation?"

"Hey, I-" he starts, attempting some sort of defense, but then just shakes his head as his expression dissolves into a sheepish grin. "Nah, I got nothing," he confesses. "I looked."

"I know," Lucy retorts. "But," she reminds him with a lilting tease, "you can do more than look now."

Wyatt has the thin, sleeveless blouse whipped up and over her head practically before she can blink.

She's just grateful that she'd at least grabbed a black bra that morning, instead of one of her rattier nude-toned plain ones (like the one he'd seen that day back in the jail, she laments mentally for half a second). Though Lucy's pretty sure Wyatt wouldn't have cared either way, given that she swears he's practically drooling as he looks her over approvingly and lets his hands roam over her bare back and ribs.

"I like the front view better," he smirks when he finally tears his gaze from her chest.

"Uh huh," Lucy giggles, not really able to pull off faux annoyance given that she's half wondering how many such looks from him she might have been on the receiving end of (and oblivious to) given how many corsets she's been shoved into since that first one for the Lincoln assassination. She's also half wondering if it's terrible of her to kind of want to have to jump to a time when she needs to wear a corset now that she knows how much Wyatt might appreciate that view.

Lucy sucks in a sharp breath when Wyatt drops his head to press a kiss to the swell of her breast, just above the edge of the bra, his hand cupping the other one.

And now she's just impatient.

"Wyatt," she breathes, "wait."

He jerks his head up, backing off and eyes wide with alarm, and Lucy immediately feels bad for making him think something might be wrong. So she reassures him with a quick kiss before leaning back ever so slightly.

Reaching behind her, she pops the small hooks free and lets the bra slip away from her body.

Wyatt's hands immediately slide up her body, taking the place of where the bra had been, and squeeze lightly. "And I like this even better," he amends, wearing a mischievous grin.

Well, sure; so does Lucy, especially when, after she sweeps her lips over his once more, his massages grow a little more rough and his thumbs brush over her nipples.

From there, everything sort of fades into a flurry of hands exploring, mouths roaming, and breathy sighs as Lucy writhes on Wyatt's lap. But as good as it all is, they're still both reduced to haphazardly pushing down the back of waistbands in futility given that they're both still sitting.

"Let me up," Lucy finally murmurs against his mouth, anticipation buzzing through her.

She climbs off his lap with whatever grace she can muster and, with her eyes locked on his, hooks her thumbs in the waist of her panties and slips the damp scrap of fabric down her legs.

And yeah, Lucy's well aware that she and her outfits have been on the receiving end of some appreciative looks from Wyatt through history, but never like this. She can practicality _feel_ his searing gaze raking up over her body.

But looking isn't enough right now; she needs his hands back on her. And she needs him naked.

Without needing words, she coaxes him into a repeat of his earlier motion when she'd tugged his jeans off. He tilts his pelvis, lifting off the bed just enough for Lucy to ease the waistband of his boxers over his erection and then slide them down past his knees. Wyatt takes it from there, kicking them away with his socks as he slides backwards toward the head of the bed.

Lucy finds herself almost frozen there, still hovering next to the bed. And it's not necessarily the sight before her – though she's hardly complaining about that; he looks _good_. Holy _fuck_ , does he look good. But she can't quite wrap her mind around the fact that, for all that has gone wrong for her over the past year, _this_ is the one thing that's actually turning out far better than she ever could have let herself believe was possible.

Wyatt prods her out of her momentary daze, snarking from his spot on the bed, "Now who needs an engraved invitation?"

That elicits a bit of an eye roll on Lucy's part, even as she feels a little blush for having gotten a little sappy again in her head there. "Shut up," she snaps back. But her words have little bite given that she's already complying and crawling over to lay on her side next to him.

Capturing her lips, tongue snaking into her mouth, Wyatt hauls her up even tighter against him, and Lucy braces herself against the sudden motion, her palm flat, squarely in the middle of his chest. Until, as the kiss intensifies, she lets that hand drift lower.

Lucy finally wraps her fingers around him, the first time without any fabric in the way. A shiver runs through her, both from the contact and the guttural little noise Wyatt lets out against her lips. She just takes that as encouragement and lifts him up, testing a gentle stroke up and down. He's smooth and warm with just a bit of moisture already seeping from the tip, which she sweeps her thumb through eagerly.

Yeah, she's going to need him inside her soon. Like now, maybe.

That need only intensifies further when she feels Wyatt's fingers slip between her thighs. Her legs spread wider out of pure instinct and she has to break away from his kiss to gulp a couple deeper breaths. Lucy tries to meet his gaze, but can't keep her eyes open when his fingertips brush over her again, slick and slippery.

She does manage half a wry smile to herself as she bucks against his hand; so much for that lube he'd bought. Won't be necessary, not even close.

The condoms, however…

Not that Lucy's not enjoying the touching – she most definitely is – but now she's greedy. And still impatient.

So as difficult as it is to convince herself to move, she manages to pry herself away from Wyatt, flailing blindly behind her for the box they've abandoned further down the bed. When she finally locates it, she grabs it, pulling herself to a half-sitting position to pry it open. She makes quick work of the flimsy cardboard, frees one shiny packet from the bunch, and reaches to set the opened box on the nightstand.

Impatient as she is, Lucy can't help but pause for half a beat, Wyatt running his hand over her leg as she eyes the wrapped condom. To think, just a little earlier that evening, she'd been all aflutter over a few innocent touches, over clothes, at the Color Factory. And now, here th-

"Don't," Wyatt suddenly warns, interrupting her train of thought.

"Don't what?" she asks, her gaze darting over to him in confusion.

"I know that look," he smirks, still trailing his fingertips higher and higher up her thigh. "You were gonna start telling me the history of… sex or who invented condoms or something."

"I was not," Lucy disputes defensively. Just musing over our own complete and utter lack of sex history until an hour ago, she adds in her head. Of course, she also can't help but seize on Wyatt's accusation, teasing, "I can, if you want me to."

With false seriousness, he threatens, "I will leave."

Lucy snorts a laugh. "No, you won't."

"You really wanna test that theory?" Wyatt taunts.

"Do _you_?" Lucy challenges, reaching down to grasp him again.

Wyatt's head lolls back when she does, and he hisses as he thrusts weakly up into her hand. He starts to chastise her, "Bossy kno-", but Lucy just stifles a laugh and quiets him by sliding her grip up and down.

"I'd say reckless," she counters impishly, holding up the condom packet in her other hand, "but you had these, so I really can't."

That earns her a laugh from him, and Lucy knows it's time. Nothing holding them back, no reason to wait anymore.

She releases him to carefully tear open the condom wrapper, feeling nothing but giddy anticipation. Once open, she slips out the condom and tosses the wrapper behind her off the bed. Inching closer to Wyatt, she bites her lip and reaches out to roll it on him. And when he makes no move to shift from his half-propped up position with his back on a pile of pillows, she takes the initiative to crawl over and above him.

Leaning down, Lucy brushes a kiss across Wyatt's lips, then straightens up, kneeling with her legs on either side of him. As his hands grip her hips, she reaches down to position him, then slowly lets herself sink down, taking him in.

And oh _god_ , does he feel so good, so _right_. She lets out a ragged breath, squeezing her eyes closed as she inches further down, feeling Wyatt's fingertips dig roughly into the skin of her hips. He's making all sorts of little incoherent noises under her, but then again, so is she as she lowers herself down, so she's not entirely able to focus on him.

When she's fully settled, Wyatt buried fully inside her, Lucy takes a second to just breathe, adjusting to the feel of him. For all the times she's imagined this (and yeah, she _has_ imagined it), the real thing is _so_ much better and she's unimaginably grateful for whatever shift in the cosmos changed the mood between them tonight and finally led to this.

As if he can hear her thoughts, Wyatt echoes his words from earlier in the evening with a primal groan, "Fuck… Should have done this a while ago too."

Lucy can't help it; she bursts out laughing. And she's thrilled that she _can_. For the first time in her life, sleeping with someone for the first time isn't laden with nerves and expectations and the pressure of overreaching hopes for what it might turn into. This? It's just purely exhilarating and sensual and _fun_. Which is kind of ironic given that all of those previous stressful encounters never amounted to anything; it's _this_ one that's fun and it's _this_ one that matters most. It's _Wyatt_.

Who laughs right back in return from under her.

At least until she lifts herself off him slightly, tilting her hips and testing a slightly different angle as she slides back down on him.

Wyatt chokes on his laughter, a strangled grunt taking its place as he tries to hold her still. "Stop, stop – the 'been a while' thing?" he reminds her, his breathing shaky. "Just… wait. For a second."

Lucy freezes, contrite. Though she has to admit, the sight of him already on edge because of her just adds to the thrill of the moment.

Down against the pillows, Wyatt takes another deep breath before venturing a tentative retreat of his hips before thrusting back up into her.

It's Lucy's turn to have a shudder wrack through her body and she slumps forward, bracing herself with her hands flat on his chest.

He rocks into her once more before letting out a groan and stilling again. "Fuck," he gasps, "you know how some people collect states? Or public places? That they've had sex?"

Now, Lucy's all for doing this _many_ more times, but she has to lift a skeptical eyebrow in his direction at the mention of public places.

"This. In all the different years," Wyatt declares, pressing up into her again and running his hands up and down from her waist.

"When?" Lucy scoffs, laughing, though possibly not as opposed to the idea as she might have expected herself to be. "Killing time in the woods in 1754?" She rocks her pelvis against him again, testing his composure once more. "I'm sure Rufus would appreciate that."

Wyatt tenses again under her, but rebounds a little more quickly, able to reply, "Bonnie and Clyde. They sure as hell did it," her reasons. "We were in a freaking _bed_."

Lucy rolls her eyes, both at the fact that they're having _this_ conversation _now_ and at his absurd assertion. "Because you were completely in the right mental place to do anything with me then," she points out.

She's kind of stunned, her heart maybe even skipping a beat, when Wyatt's expression softens and he concedes, "Lot closer to the right place than you think." Once again, she finds herself grateful that he's able to bring back the light-hearted banter more quickly than she can, as he smirks, "I'm just saying. Arkansas, bed. Germany, bed. Vegas, bed-"

That one earns him an incredulous glare from Lucy as she recovers and moves above him again. As if he'd wanted anything to do with her in that hotel room, aside possibly from throttle her.

"Angry sex counts," he argues as he experimentally thrusts his pelvis up to meet her motions for the first time.

Lucy's eyes flutter shut and she bites her lip, the feel of him hitting even deeper momentarily stealing her ability for coherent speech.

She catches him smirking when she's able to open her eyes again, and she can't help but imagine that argument back in Vegas ending another way. Not that she _wants_ to be fighting with him again like that, but a rush of heat floods through her at the thought of that, or any of their many other disagreements now ending in bed. Better than the alternative, most definitely. So she'll give him that one, she supposes, reminding him when she finds her voice, "Judith thought we were anyway."

He stills suddenly and his is look of surprise catches her off-guard at first; it's a second before she it dawns on her that he'd have had no idea about that comment unless Rufus had told him, which, give Rufus' discomfort at even hearing it suggested, she didn't figure he had.

"There ya go," he eventually shrugs, rocking his hips up into her again, "Vegas, bed. DC, that dressing room at the store..."

Lucy rolls her eyes at the notion of getting away with any sort of illicit liaison in public in the 1950s, even as a shiver overtakes her as she imagines doing exactly that. Even so, she'd prefer to concentrate on their current liaison. So she lifts up off him ever so slightly, sliding back down and grinding against him, teasing, "Maybe focus on this time first?"

Wyatt's eyes widen a little, and he immediately relinquishes his grip on one side of her waist. He sneaks his thumb between them, right where Lucy is writhing against him in pursuit of some added friction.

"Oh what," he challenges, pressing his thumb against her, rubbing in gently swirled circles, "am I not keeping you entertained enough?"

Lucy's eyes fall closed yet again at that added contact, and she bites her lip as her head lolls forward and she rocks harder against his hand. She tries to articulate to Wyatt that this, in particular, is _more_ than entertaining enough, but it comes out as more of an incoherent whine between shaky breaths.

She'd be happy to stay like that for a while, but Wyatt clearly has other plans; before Lucy can process what's happening, he's sitting up straighter, rolling them over, and hitching one of her legs up and over his forearm, which is now planted next to her torso as he hovers over her. He also doesn't waste any time driving himself into her a few times, thrusting even deeper, hitting all the right places in the new position. As if that isn't enough, he ducks his head down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue circling and teasing.

"Oh, fuck…" Lucy breathes, arching her back up toward him. At first, she lets her head drop back, pressing against the pillows, but Wyatt is relentless, and eventually she drags her gaze up to watch him. She almost loses it when, instead of the top of his head, she finds herself staring right into his big blue eyes, as he'd been watching her the entire time his mouth was working her into a frenzy.

Wyatt releases her with a pop. "Better?" he taunts, smirking and pressing up into her once more.

It's approximately a panted giggle that escapes from Lucy as she nods weakly in response, but even that sound dies on her lips with a soft gasp when Wyatt sweeps his thumb over her nipple, still wet and slick from his mouth.

He repeats the motion, but any noises she might have made are lost into his mouth as he dives in for a deep kiss, his tongue dueling with Lucy's.

The kiss eventually drifts, trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, and back up to her lips as Wyatt's hips retreat and thrust back into her repeatedly.

Lucy clings to him, her legs wrapped around him as best she can manage, her fingernails digging into the smooth skin of his back.

But it's not long before Wyatt gets a little erratic, pausing here and there, breathing hard, and when he leans up a bit from her, Lucy can see the anguish on his face as he fights against his own body. She lifts one hand to rest on his cheek, wanting to tell him to just let go. "Wyatt…" she starts.

He cuts her off, his sheepish gaze disappointed as he stills within her, his breathing rough and ragged. "Can we just agree that this time is not going to be a shining example of technique and stamina right here? I'm sorry, I just-" His face twists in frustration. "I can't-"

"It's okay. You're good," she assures him gently. And honestly, she's pretty much there anyway too.

With a weak sigh of relief, Wyatt lifts his one hand from the mattress, letting Lucy's leg down before he props himself back up on both arms again. She locks her ankles around his hips as he picks up the pace once more, and lets one hand drift down her own body to pick up where he'd left off when he rolled them over.

It's barely a few more thrusts before Lucy can tell that Wyatt's right on the edge; if it's really been years for him, she's more than appreciative that he's fought to stretch it this long for her. But she wants to see him lose control. Working herself faster, she squeezes him within her.

And that does it.

His face contorts, and one last jerky push into her, and he's groaning her name.

Lucy's still touching herself, but it's his face that does her in; his expression when her name slips from his lips as he's buried deep within her is quite literally the hottest thing she's ever seen, and then she's falling, shuddering and moaning and writhing under him as the intensity of the sensation overtakes her.

Wyatt's practically convulsing on her, grunting, her rhythmic pulsing around him clearly too much for him. When she has enough of her bearings again, Lucy summons the strength to give an extra squeeze, tightening around him once more, which sends him into another tremor, whimpering against her shoulder.

And then breathing and pulses finally slow, and Wyatt fully collapses down on top of Lucy. She can't quite catch her breath with his full weight on her, but she just closes her eyes and holds him closer, not wanting it any other way. She'd stay this way forever if she could.

But biology has something to say about that; eventually she feels Wyatt reach between then and slip from inside her. He presses a kiss to her lips before sliding away reluctantly, promising in a gravelly murmur, "Be right back."

It's only when he's up and out of bed, crossing the room away from her, that Lucy can really even begin to process what just happened. She rolls onto her side, relishing the mild ache in her hips and thighs – a reminder that after so long alone, she finally has Wyatt – as she stretches her legs. For as much as she hadn't expected this, somehow, from the other side, it really seems like it was an inevitability. She cares so much for him, and they just make _sense_ together.

Lucy's shaken from her musings by the sound of Wyatt flushing, then the sink running, from the bathroom just down the hall. As much as she doesn't feel like moving again, ever, she knows she should follow suit before she falls asleep. So she crawls off the bed and pads across the room, meeting Wyatt just outside the door.

"Two seconds," she promises, pressing up on her toes to brush a quick kiss across his lips. She grins against his mouth when she feels his hands already back on her, wandering over her bare skin.

She slips away with a coy smile, hurrying to use the bathroom and get back to him. By the time she's back in the bedroom, Wyatt has straightened the pillows that they made a mess of and slid under the covers. Lucy's stomach does another one of those little flip-floppy things when he looks up and, catching a glimpse of her, yanks down the comforter next to him, inviting her in.

It's not exactly a _run_ across the room to get to him, but sure, Lucy's willing to admit that she scurries a little faster than she would have had it been her own empty bed that she was returning to.

Wyatt holds an arm out as Lucy slides between the sheets next to him, folding her into his embrace and angling for a kiss. Lucy readily complies with the unspoken request, curling up against his chest and pressing her lips to his, letting her tongue tease his lazily. When they ease up for breathing purposes, she rests her head against his shoulder, feeling Wyatt brushing a kiss over the top of her head before resting his chin there.

She's _happy_.

But curious.

She almost talks herself out of it, but she's too inquisitive for her own good.

Lucy lifts her head just a smidge, leaning back from Wyatt just enough to look him in the eye. "Why tonight?" she asks, her voice soft and unaccusing.

His gaze darts away for a second, but then he zeroes back in on her, admitting, "Just… seemed right." He shrugs self-consciously, running the hand not wrapped around Lucy over his face. "I dunno, I-"

_Right._

Exactly the word that's been running through Lucy's mind since he'd taken her into his arms on the sidewalk outside The Color Factory. She cuts him off with a kiss, then backs away with a grin. "I know what you mean."

They melt into yet another kiss, Wyatt's hand drifting from near his own face down to skim over the exposed skin of Lucy's torso and the side of her breast.

Until he pulls away suddenly, wearing a wicked grin. "In the lifeboat," he announces.

Lucy dissolves into laughter. "Oh my god," she giggles, rolling her eyes.

"It's gonna happen," Wyatt insists, still running his hands over her.

"Rufus would kill us," Lucy counters, not willing to admit that the mental image of straddling Wyatt in his lifeboat seat is _way_ more appealing than it should be.

Wyatt just shakes his head, pointing out, "It's not like we tell him about it. And," he continues, "you think _he_ hasn't been in there with Jiya after hours?"

Lucy cringes, lamenting, "Oh, I don't want to know that."

A chuckle ripples through Wyatt as he pulls her up against him again, sweeping his lips back over hers.

And though she's kind of exhausted from their first time, the kiss fans her ever-present flicker of desire for him, and she pulls away from Wyatt with hooded eyes, murmuring, "Okay, instead of planning all these other times, can we just... do it again now?"

"No, _I_ can't yet," he reminds her, smirking. "But you…" he trails off and pushes his way down the bed, nudging Lucy's legs apart. He settles himself between them and ducks his head down, bringing his mouth to her and far exceeding any expectations Lucy had had when he'd bent down to pry open her jeans earlier.

Once Lucy's muscles feel like anything more than jello again, Wyatt has also recovered, so they do eventually make their way to another round together, and both drift into an exhausted slumber soon afterward. And for as much as she relishes a full eight hours when she can get it, Lucy's hardly going to refuse when Wyatt reaches for her again (and again...) in a drowsy, dreamy haze in the middle of the night.

By the time she's collapsing on top of him in the dim light of early dawn the next morning, a handful of condom wrappers have joined the first one to litter the floor of Wyatt's bedroom. Lucy sprawls on his bare chest, practically catatonic with his arms wrapped around her back, hugging her against him, and perfectly content to not ever move again. She even feels him slip out of her, but still, neither of them cares enough to move, and eventually Lucy drifts off to sleep against him just as Wyatt is pulling a sheet up over her back.

It's really pretty perfect.

So of _course_ , it's Wyatt's phone chiming from the floor, where it lays tucked in the pocket of his long-since abandoned jeans, that wakes them later.

Lucy groans vociferously against his shoulder, knowing exactly what that chime means; the same thing it means out in the living room, where her phone is probably dinging along in concert with his. "Noooo," she whines halfheartedly.

Wyatt echoes her discontent, releasing a grumble of a sigh that Lucy can feel vibrating through her.

But this is their life. It's not as if Emma's going to take a break just because they got their act together and finally fell into the same bed last night.

So Wyatt shoves her off him as nicely as one can shove someone off of them and snags the phone from his pocket on the way to the bathroom. When he emerges again, he confirms with his eyes exactly what Lucy suspected.

"Do we know when?" she sighs, raking a hand as best she can through her wildly tangled hair. Still, she's somehow less perturbed by Emma's jump than she might normally be given that, at least for the moment, she's being treated to a view of Wyatt just standing there unabashedly naked.

If he notices her ogling, he doesn't call her out on it, so she just keeps right on staring at him appreciatively.

"Doesn't say," Wyatt eventually replies, scanning his gaze over the screen of his phone again. "But…" he drags out, looking up with a grin, "you live almost 15 minutes further from Mason than I do. Which means we have at least an extra ten minutes to kill before we have to leave to get there by the time that you would have gotten there if you weren't here."

Lucy cocks her head, intrigued and not quite sure where he's going with that notion.

He nods to the hallway behind him, smirking. "Shower?"

Her scramble out of bed is the fastest Lucy has moved in a while, needing no extra prompting beyond the tempting mental picture of Wyatt not only naked, but wet and soapy and naked.

They do actually wash themselves off, but they do so in record time and spend the rest of their scant time countering the cleanliness with some dirtiness, including Lucy sinking down to her knees so as to not renege on the previous night's sucking conversation.

When they finally, and very reluctantly, emerge from the shower, Wyatt snags an extra towel for Lucy and takes care to dry her off himself. She thanks him with a quick kiss, and they head back into the bedroom.

Wyatt's the lucky one who can just pull clean clothes from his dresser; Lucy grumbles aloud as she plucks her clothes from the floor. "I don't have any other underwear," she complains dramatically.

The response from Wyatt is less than sympathetic as he pulls his own clothes on. "So don't wear any," he teases.

Lucy rolls her eyes. "I don't know how you and Rufus get dressed, but Jiya has to help me," she retorts. "I'm not _not_ wearing underwear."

In the end, she does indeed pull them back on – hey, at least it was only a few hours that she wore them between returning from the mission and getting to his bedroom – along with the rest of her clothes, including the now-infamous button-fly jeans.

Wyatt's already dressed at that point, so he sets about getting them an Uber while Lucy ducks back into the bathroom one more time. A silly grin breaks out on her face when she sees that Wyatt has left her a new toothbrush on the counter, and that grin is most definitely still there when she drops it into the holder next to his after brushing. As for the rest of the toiletries, the options are a little more bleak. She ends up forgoing moisturizer for her face and deodorant; those are actually waiting for her in her locker at work, and she'll certainly survive the ten minutes it'll take to get there. Rather than experiment with any of the little canisters of hair goo that Wyatt has, she just throws her wet hair into messy knot; she'll have to style it into something else when she gets to Mason regardless.

And that's that. She eyes herself in the mirror and tugs at her blouse, hoping Jiya won't automatically notice that it's the same thing she was wearing last night. She has no illusion that she and Wyatt will be able to hide these new developments from their friends, even if they had any intent of doing so (she doesn't), but it would still be nice to process a little, just the two of them, for more than twelve hours before getting interrogated about it.

Wyatt calls out from the living room that the car's going to be there in two minutes, so Lucy hurriedly joins him, shoving her feet into her sneakers and grabbing her bag from the hook. The sweater, she takes, but stuffs it into the bag, hoping the recycled outfit might be a little less obvious without it.

Lucy's about to push past Wyatt out the door when he places his hand firmly on her hip, catching her before she can get by. "Hey," he says softly, coaxing her gaze up to his with his voice. "You good?"

For half a second, Lucy almost doesn't even realize why he's asking; in so many ways, it doesn't feel like just yesterday that they were mere friends at best, contentious colleagues at worst. Being there, leaving for work together in the morning – she could get used to it. Hell, she kind of already is. So she smiles up at him, confirming, "Yeah."

"Good," he replies, grinning. "Me too." He leans down for a quick kiss, then guides her out the door. "Come on."

The Uber is already at the curb waiting. They climb in and confirm the address, but aside from that, _this_ driver ignores Lucy and Wyatt. They take advantage of that fact and make up for the drive the night before.

Even as they climb out of the car just outside Mason Industries, Lucy's only concern is making sure that her shirt is straight and that neither of them look too obviously post-kissing.

They duck inside, hoping to be inconspicuous, only to be intercepted by Rufus wandering by absently. "Hey," he exclaims once he registers their presence, "where have you guys been? I saw your cars already, but were you not here?"

Lucy's eyes widen; they had _not_ discussed a cover story for that.

But she should have known not to worry; Wyatt launches smoothly into an entirely plausible, and perfectly evasive, not-quite lie, scoffing, "You guys abandoned us downtown with instructions to go drinking. You think we wanted to deal with the train and then two cars? That's what cabs are for, my friend."

Thankfully, even if he were so inclined, Rufus doesn't have a chance to question that, because Jiya pops her head around a corner, informing them, "Hey, Christopher wants to see all of you."

The briefing is just that – brief. Emma has headed to some non-descript location in 1852 in upstate New York. Lucy's best guess is something to do with the women's rights movement, but it doesn't seem to be in conjunction with any specific event.

Either way, it means a corset and that she'll need Jiya's help to get dressed. So much for keeping the button-fly a secret. But, Lucy realizes with a giddy bubbliness in her stomach, at least Wyatt will get to (discreetly) enjoy the view of her in that corset…

They're all walking out of the conference room when Rufus yawns widely, complaining, "You'd think Emma needs sleep too. What's with this super early on Saturday morning crap?"

Jiya just glares at him. "I thought you were happy about getting out of brunch."

"Doesn't mean I can't still be tired," Rufus grouses.

Jiya looks wide-eyed to Wyatt and Lucy for sympathy, but Wyatt just rubs his eyes tiredly, admitting, "I'm with him."

Lucy does her best to stifle her own yawn, but it finally wins and she just shrugs sheepishly.

Throwing her arms into the air in mild exasperation, Jiya whirls around, muttering something about getting clothes for Lucy.

Which, true – they do have to get dressed, and pretty quickly. So Lucy hurries off to the women's locker room, hoping to get a head start on getting changed so she can get the jeans – and their telltale button-fly – off before Jiya sees them.

But, of course, today's the day that Jiya has planned ahead, announcing as much when she barges into the locker room with an armload of skirts, petticoats, and everything else. "Hey, I grabbed these before you got here…"

She trails off, because the exact second she's chosen to enter to room is the exact second that Lucy's pulled up the hem of her blouse to fight with the second button, just as Wyatt had done the night before. Meaning the button-fly is on full display.

And Jiya notices.

"Are those _the_ jeans?" she giggles, taunting, "You went back and bought them?"

Lucy's frozen, pretty much classic deer-in-the-headlights, stammering a less-than-eloquent "Uh…" as she grapples for what to say.

She'd have been better off just casually confirming that she bought them; her lack of response gives Jiya the perfect opening to further scrutinize her outfit.

Her eyes narrow at Lucy. "Wait, did you- Were you wearing them last night?" And then her jaw drops as she sets the bundle of clothing down next to her. "Were you wearing that whole _outfit_ last night? Did you guys actually- Oh my god, you _did_!" she squeals, the pitch, volume, and speed of her words all increasing simultaneously. "You came in the same car this morning from his place didn't you?" And before Lucy can even think to dodge her, Jiya's reaching for her knot of still-wet hair and breathing in. "That is _man_ shampoo!" she cries gleefully. "And you're _tired_?" she squeaks. "Oh my god, did the two of you get _any_ sleep at all last night?"

Now, Lucy's one-thousand percent sure she's already blushing a furious crimson by then, but Jiya manages to take it one step further when she looks Lucy's outfit up and down knowingly. "There's gonna be beard burn and hickeys all over the place under there, isn't there?"

Which, yes – that's entirely true, and happens to be a fact that Lucy stupidly managed to forget in her singular focus on hiding the stupid jeans; there never would have been a way to hide all the blemishes Wyatt has left behind when getting dressed anyway.

Jiya just smirks at her lack of response, adding rhetorically, "Does it still count as beard burn if it's actually just stubble?"

Lucy swallows hard, musters up as much composure as she can, and, dodging Jiya's perceptive gaze, admits haltingly, "Wyatt… liked the jeans."

A bemused snort echoes in the locker room. "I'm pretty sure it's more the person in them," Jiya corrects gently. "But yeah," she adds, grinning, "I don't think they hurt your case." She nods down at the historical garb she'd brought in, reminding her, "You still have to get changed though." And when Lucy doesn't immediately make a move to keep undressing, Jiya, still smirking, teases, "You want me to go get him to take 'em off you again?"

Lucy just shakes her head, still feeling the heat of her reddened cheeks as she goes back to fighting the buttons of her fly.

Stupid jeans.

 

**~FIN~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. The finale is a logistics nightmare and there's no way the return to the present and the condom-buying could have played out that simply. For one, where did Rufus bring them back to in the present? RH had taken over that warehouse. Where does fugitive!Wyatt go while R/J go to a hospital? Does he find Agent Christopher? If so, how? How does Lucy get in touch with any of them when Flynn brings her back? How do they run all of Ethan's files on Mason's fancy data processing thing if RH is still running Mason Industries headquarters? And many more questions that I couldn't address in Wyatt's few sentences of condom soliloquy up there. I tried to make it work then just gave up and left it. I'm going to assume that if you hated this fic, it wasn't because of those couple of paragraphs?
> 
> Anyway, I'm still not entirely sure where this came from. The length most certainly got away from me and it's a bit of a Frankenstein fic because it filled multiple fic needs I had – the button-fly, of course, but also, I was intrigued by The Color Factory when I heard about it, so when I learned it was in SF, I knew I wanted either Lucy/Wyatt or the time team to visit it.
> 
> I also had a need for Wyatt to buy condoms before things actually escalated between them; I wanted a conscious decision to take that physical step with Lucy before it actually happened. I felt like it might be more reassuring for her to know that he'd moved on of his own accord and that it wasn't just heat of the moment.
> 
> And the last need was for the sort of goofy, fun first sex. I guess a lot of fics (some of mine included!) portray their sleeping together for the first time as Very Serious and a Very Big Deal. Not that it's not a big deal, but some of their best moments on the show are the cute/sassy/cheeky/flirty/banter-y moments (You're a bossy know-it-all/no you're a reckless hothead, you sound crazy/I sound like you, what does the spiritual type look like, the 50's are cool/*side-eye*, all the ma'am-ing, etc. etc…), so I guess I figured that could carry over into the first foray into the bedroom because they're just so damn comfortable with each other already? Apparently I also decided to make it a pretty detailed play-by-play. Sorry not sorry? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Whether this mishmash of all those ideas succeeded at any of them is your call :)
> 
> And finally, SEASON 2. March 11 is not coming fast enough. I've seen the teeny tiny promos airing during the Olympics and I must have more. *grabby hands* (However, to any of you lovely commenters, no spoilers in the comments, please!)
> 
> [/end rambling]

**Author's Note:**

> So this was inspired by me actually seeing a mannequin wearing button-fly skinny jeans at a Gap Outlet last summer. So Lucy's brain being all 'heh, Wyatt wears button-fly jeans from Gap' was basically _my_ brain being all 'heh, Wyatt wears button-fly jeans from Gap'. And a plot bunny was born.


End file.
